Death is no stranger but a favored guest
whose ways are still unknown, and yet
the darkness into which I float to rest
is kinder than the hearts with which I’ve grown.
Death is no stranger, and yet
Death! Stranger to the thought
than hands to fish,
less welcome that a lure you can’t resist.
Resist me now!
Turn back! Your way is north
and mine is south.
I work toward apple brine,
break of serried hedge,
water pausing and the scrolls of leaf.
I’m going south,
to peace and the song of birds
to a love I thought would never call –
No, not me,
Be content with having the power to make me flee,
content with being the dark I fear,
content with any role you choose
save that of being my deliverer!